Raising Cash In Lima Heights
by Steampunk Beauty
Summary: Senior year. When Mr. Shuester decides to leave it up to Glee Club to raise funds to go to Nationals, Brittany and Santana quickly become entrepreneurial. What will two young, barely legal, ripened teenage girls do to make some fast money?


On, "the other side of the tracks," in Lima Heights, Ohio, two former Cheerios were shacked together uncomfortably in a decrepit, dilapidated apartment that smelled of cheap booze and cheaper sex. Peeling, brown wallpaper and a green, shaggy carpet stained with unidentifiable splotches made the dwelling just that much cozier.

"I don't think this is right..." The blue-eyed girl murmured quietly, her nervous fingers playing along the crinkly edge of a condom wrapper.

"Oh?" a dark eyebrow raised in question. "Why not, B? We've been doing great. Mr Shue's going to be so proud of us when we show him how much cash we've saved up to send the team to Nationals."

"But when he entrusted us with the responsibility of fundraising, I think Mr. Shue meant that we should hold a bake sale or a car wash or something else less sexual..." Brittany's forehead furrowed in thought. "Like yesterday, I held a yard sale and it totally worked, San. This hobo down the street bought my lawn for sixty dollars and granted, he's kind of smelly and my dad says that he's bringing the property value down with his tent made out of newspaper, trash and empty beer cartons but I think he's kind of cute and he keeps our plants watered," she grinned optimistically. "His name's Patches."

An indulgent smile pulled at the corners of Santana's lips as she made a mental note to visit Brittany's house with a can of pepper spray for the vagabond and a flamethrower for his property. "Brittbritt, we could wash cars and sell cupcakes every day for the next two weeks and we still wouldn't be making as much money as we are doing what we do now for an hour or two. Besides… if you're going to do it anyways, why not charge for it? It kills too birds with one stone."

Abruptly, Brittany dropped the condom wrapper in distress and her bottom lip began quivering at the imagery. Santana winced and bit her tongue before repudiating her analogy. It slipped her mind how literally Brittany took everything. "I mean… it feeds two ducks with one breadstick. You know what I'm trying to say."

"But…" the blonde shuffled her feet awkwardly. "In sex-ed, Holly Holiday told us that sex is great and that money is fantastic but that the two aren't supposed to mix. Like denim on denim. Then, Ms. Pillsbury jumped in and went off about how it was representative and immortal."

"Reprehensible and immoral?"

"Yeah. That." Brittany huffed irritably. She wasn't in the mood to be corrected.

Santana rolled her eyes. "That's so hypocritical. When Finn was running that kissing booth, did anyone else in the school have a problem with it? Were all of the girls in the student body suddenly horrible people for getting in line to give him a dollar per kiss? It's the same thing Britt, supply and demand. It's not my fault that market forces are rewarding us so well for providing a service that they condemn. It's society's. People pay for sexual favors all of the time. Like massages. We're just offering _extremely_ intimate massages. "

"It still doesn't feel right," she stood unconvinced. "…I don't think I like doing it." A frown etched itself into the girl's austere features.

Santana's face fell. She sucked in and released a full breath of air as guilt wound itself around her heart. Sometimes the best solutions weren't the easiest ones. "Hey." She pulled the distraught girl into her arms soothingly and pressed her lips against Brittany's in a chaste kiss. "You don't have to do anything too strenuous today, okay? All you need to do is just lay back, look pretty, wait for our customers to come in and I'll take care of the rest." Santana nuzzled her cheek in encouragement. "I'm doing this for you and me, B. I know how much performing onstage in New York means to you."

"What time will we be done tonight?" The dancer asked resignedly.

"Mmmm. With the number of guys stopping by, I'm guessing one o' clock, same time as last night." Santana informed her matter-of-factly.

"I'll be exhausted!" Brittany protested.

"I know, but it'll be so worth it." Santana countered. "Chin up, B. Like a soldier. I'll take you to Breadstix afterwards."

"You're the one that's crazy about Breadstix." Brittany flatly pointed out.

"Yeah, and you're the one who likes the mood I'm in after I come back from Breadstix." Santana prodded at her suggestively, her half-lidded eyes peeking up at her lasciviously.

"Are we whores, San?" she continued to object.

"That's subjective. What's a whore?" the brunette challenged.

"Artie was talking about an algorithm where you divide your age by three and if the amount of people you've slept with exceed that number, you're definitely a whore."

"I'm still a few away from my number." Santana shrugged.

"I'm double of mine." Brittany revealed in all honesty.

"So what? Some people just like sex on the regular. There's no shame in that." Santana spun her chair around and shot her dexterous hands out to rummage through a desk drawer. "Anyways, your boyfriend's an ass. Who the hell injects math into sex?"

"I don't know…What are you doing?" Brittany quizzically inquired.

"Countin' muh dolla bills," a stack of green currency fluttered in between her dark slender fingers, the noise of shuffled paper echoing in the small room.

"NO. HELL NO. I AM NOT GOING BACK IN THERE AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME." Finn furiously trampled from their left into the living room of the apartment, his hair askew and chest reddened from abuse. His tighty-whities were noticeably splattered with drippings of a pale candle-wax and he looked like he was about to cry.

"What's the problem now, Hudson? Shot too soon again?" Puck smirked as he emerged out of the right adjacent bedroom in a stylish blue vestment and zebra-striped boxers.

"Can it Puckerman! You know what she does, Santana? She makes me wear this black latex mask! I can't breathe and I'm breaking out in hives! Then, she makes me crawl around on the floor and bark for her! IT'S NOT COOL."

Santana steeled her jaw in order to keep herself from grinding her teeth together and addressed him with her, "kitten," voice. She attempted to appear as empathetic as possible, even cooing at him, "Do you want to go to Nationals, Finnocence?"

"No question, but-"

"Then deal with it," her phony sweet veneer unmasked. "Sue Sylvester is our best and highest-paying client right now and she may be the only one keeping you in this operation. You're already on a figuratively tight leash due to all of these, "early arrivals," you've stunted us with. The profit margin you're bringing in is nonexistent."

"But I'm on a _literal_ leash with Ms. Sylvester!"

"Well… Fido." Santana's words crept out through gritted teeth, her patience rapidly depleting. "You better just sit, roll over and beg for it because I don't WANTZ to have to get my DISCIPLINARIAN on," she threatened, already primed to pull out the twisted, copper-wire hanger from her boot. She gave a nudge at her blonde friend,"Brittany, go fire up the stove."

All six feet of pasty naked manflesh whimpered and trembled before her. Finn tugged at the back of his messy bedhair in anxiety. "No! I… I'll go finish the job. I mean, I'm captain of the football team. It's just like scoring another goal, right?"

Three sets of eyes stared at him with pity.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" the football player cried out as Ms. Sylvester appeared almost like a phantom at his side, in a smoky black mask and full mistress garb, clutching him by his collar and dragging her victim back into her rented dungeon of sexual punishment. The sound of a whip snapping at the air was all that was heard before the door ominously slammed shut.

Brittany let out a cough with visible relief. She didn't like seeing Santana brand Finn. The smell of burnt flesh made her dizzy and he was a screamer. Puck only snickered at his best friend's misfortune. He turned back towards the two girls. "I'm gonna need some more rubbers."

"Another happy customer, Puck?" Brittany positively inquired as she offered him two more boxes of contraceptives.

"Damn straight. Kurt is such an easy lay. I drill into him for three minutes and suddenly he's white-water-rafting, if you get my drift." Puck boasted, scratching at the scruffy five o'clock shadow growing at his strong jaw.

Santana leaned her chin against her hand and smiled at him approvingly. Did she still have the most trifling amount of residual attraction to him? Yeah, she did. But that ship sailed away a long time ago. Still, it was nice to look. "What is that you're wearing?"

Puck turned to the side and lifted up the flaps of his blazer to show off the classy garment. "I think it's a… Dalton Prep jacket? I dunno. He makes me put it on and sing Katy Perry to him while we're doin' it." He adjusted the rolled up cuffs on his forearms. "I think it looks kinda snazzy."

"Oh!" Brittany exclaimed towards him, as though a light bulb went off in her head. "I was supposed to give this to you yesterday…" She snaked her hand into her purse, and feeling something weighty and metallic, she wrapped her tenuous fingers around it before pulling it out with a flourish. "Ta da! You're the Employee of the Month, Puck! For good attendance and great performance!" Brittany handed it over to him with pride and Puck accepted it with suspicion. It didn't take a perceptive eye to figure out what it was though. Turning it over in his hands, he found that his accolade was a gold-painted cheerleading trophy that had duct-tape wrapped around the part that read, "Awarded to McKinley High Cheerios," and instead written over with a sharpie marker to read, "Yay, Go Puck."

Santana pushed a $25 gift certificate for the local bowling alley across the desk to him. In a deadened, monotone voice she recited, "We are pleased to have you as an employee and expect great things from you in the future." She yawned at the end for emphasis. It was getting late.

"Cool! Does that mean I get a raise?" He asked hopefully.

"Nope, we're in a recession, Puckerman." Santana shut him down. "Actually, you'll be taking a 15% paycut to your commission. Administrative fees are more costly than estimated." The latina tilted her head in faux sympathy, mewling at him. "Sorry."

Puck grunted. "What administrative fees? All you girls do here is sit at this desk, stock condoms, write down appointments, count cash, watch television and grope each other while Finn, Sam and I work at the grindstone."

"More expensive than we anticipated." Santana remarked absentmindedly, taking the opportunity to pull out a magazine. He turned his defiant gaze Brittany's direction to see if he could find support there only to discover that she was equally consumed with the task of brushing her hair.

Puck clenched his fist angrily, ready to argue for his fair wage. "NO. This is the first job that I'm genuinely good at and I'm pulling my weight on. This is some bullsh-"

"NOAH?" The effeminate voice of a pixie-nosed tenor rang out.

The distraction broke his train of thought. "Uh… YEAH. FUCK THAT. What I was saying was... um… was…" It was no use. He forgot what he was about to rage over. Giving up, he began to croon as he made his way back into the occupied bedroom. "You can put your hands on me in my skin tight jeans, be my teenage dream toooniiiight."

"San?" Brittany chirped to her, turning her comb on the brunette's hair and sweeping the teeth through it in slow, even strokes.

"Hmm?" Santana responded, leaning her sturdy form to rest against her best friend as she flipped through Teen Vogue, eyes moving back and forth REM-style as she gazed at the articles.

"What administrative costs?" she questioned.

"Oh. Actually Britt, we're cutting back Puck's pay because of Artie. Employing him has skyrocketed our insurance premiums through the roof." She moistened the tip of her thumb and turned a page, "Tell him to stop filing claims for diamond-infused, gold-plated spinning rims for his wheelchair as a medical necessity. I don't care how much of an original G he is. He doesn't need it and it won't make up for his face."

"He has a nice face." Brittany brayed defensively.

Santana tried to stifle a laugh. It was unsuccessful.

"Then why did you hire him as a security guard in the first place? You know he can barely bench fifty pounds. He can't tackle anyone without hurting himself and the stairway down the hall is his arch-nemesis."

"Well," Santana began, "His wheelchair takes up the whole damn hallway. I figured if anyone tried to run out the door without paying, they'll trip over him and stay down long enough for me to shank them a few times with my nail file before calling Puck to get his fight club on." Another turn of the page. "Plus… he's like… your true love or whatever. I hired him mostly because I knew you wanted him here."

Brittany smiled.

"San?" The leggy girl called out once again.

"Yes B?" Santana resolutely responded, finally turning her attention away from the thin pages to rest fully on her best friend.

"I take it back. This isn't so hard." Brittany babbled happily.

"Of course not. This is the most brilliant idea I've ever concocted." Santana grinned, her voice dripping with self-satisfaction.

"Maybe I have an idea too." Brittany soberly proposed.

"What's that Britt?" Santana questioned in earnest. She wettened her lips and prepared herself for a barrage of nutty and preposterous proposals.

"How much would you charge if I wanted to rent YOU for an _extremely_ intimate massage?" her blue eyes sparkled in mischief.

Santana brought her index finger to her left temple as though running through a calculation in her head. "Well, you do get the employee discount…" Santana whispered to her as her sultry lips curved into a familiar, knowing smile.

* * *

**Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed it! :D My brain is telling me to turn this into a multichapter fic. But I'm like, "No brain, this was meant to be a cracky one-shot." So then she backhands me across the face and shouts, "Shut up bitc*! I know what I'm doing!"**

**It's very disconcerting. :(**

**Review!**


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